The Scarf
by SoujisBlackCat
Summary: Ever wonder why Russia REALLY always wears his scarf? Based on a story often told to kids around Halloween; if you know the story, you'll recognize it quickly. Unbeta'd, pretty dumb, and RussLiet-ish. I'd warn for character death, but... not really...


A/N: Be warned that I wrote this quickly just to get rid of a plot bunny. And to see if anyone else thought it was fitting. (heh)

It was 1795, and Lithuania was busy settling in to his new position as part of Russia's empire. He found that his duties were actually quite similar to those he preformed when together with Poland, so it wasn't as difficult as he'd expected to get used to them. But there were some things he wondered about. For example, he'd noticed that Russia never seemed to be without that scarf, wrapped snugly around his neck.

"Why do you wear that scarf all the time, Russia?" he asked, when his curiosity became too great.

"I can't tell you that now," Russia replied, "but maybe I will, someday."

After a hundred years or so, Lithuania was perfectly comfortable in Russia's empire, partly due to the fact that he'd become much closer to his captor. Sure, Russia could be a bit creepy at times, but he was really a kind man underneath. Lithuania was happy to serve him, and more than that, happy to be his friend. One day, when he thought Russia and he were close enough, and thought the other might be in the right mood to answer questions, he asked again:

"Russia, can you tell me now why you always wear that scarf?"

"Maybe someday when you aren't my servant, Lithuania. But no, I can't answer you now."

Lithuania didn't know if that was supposed to mean better times were coming, or what.

Another few years, and Lithuania wasn't Russia's servant anymore. Actually, he was rather scared of the big nation now. That time in 1905, when Russia had fired on his own people (and reacted violently when Lithuania protested) had given him a chilling fear that always lurked in the pit of his stomach when Russia came by, even now that he was no longer under his command. But he still remembered what Russia had said about the scarf. So, one time when he saw Russia at a meeting of nations, he timidly asked:

"Um . . . now that I'm not your servant, could you please tell me why you always wear your scarf?"

Russia took a second to remember, but then he smiled and said, "No, my dear Lithuania, I meant when you became _more_ than a servant to me, not _less._If you become one with me again, maybe I can tell you then, da?"

Russia had definitely become much creepier.

Eventually, Russia did make Lithuania "one with him" again, but this time he was a harsher master. Lithuania was a secretary by day – secretary, but also cook and housemaid and pretty much everything he'd been last time – and by night . . . well, what happened at night is probably best not described. But it was on one such night that a battered, traumatized Lithuania turned to face Russia's drowsy (and still scarf-clad) form and said: "You're still wearing your scarf, even now! I'm one with you again, aren't I? So why won't you tell me!? WHY DO YOU ALWAYS WEAR THAT SCARF?"

Russia gave a low, threatening chuckle, and Lithuania realized that he'd gone too far. "Such spunk, Lithuania. You must be very strong to speak to me like that, even after I've punished you. But I'm afraid the answer is still no. Maybe . . . someday. But as for now . . ." He sat up again, a predatory glint in his eye. Lithuania vowed to himself to never, ever ask again.

Many, many more years passed. Lithuania became independent, free of not only Russia's cruelty but any threat of further dominion. And after a while with their relations secure in this way, the two began talking again. Healing and recovering from the lasting effects of communism with each other's help.

Then the war started, the most violent, catastrophic war in history. And soon Lithuania found himself sitting at the side of the road, on the edge of a snowdrift, with Russia's bloodied body on the ground in front of him.

"Why . . . Russia . . ." he whispered, running his hand through his comrade's hair. They had just become friends again. So why did this have to happen, why _now_, and not before when he'd hated the man?

"Lithuania . . ." Russia croaked his name, and Lithuania brought his face closer to the other nation's, desperate to hear his dying words.

"You remember –" Russia coughed – "You remember how you used to ask about . . . my scarf? All the time?"

"Yes," Lithuania breathed, watching as Russia's purple eyes grew hazy and unfocused. "Yes, what about it?" He was almost cross that Russia would bring up such a trivial detail when he was _dying._

"You can . . . take it off, now," Russia said as he closed his eyes. Lithuania hesitated, but told himself that if this was what Russia wanted, this was what he had to do. And besides, a ghost of his original curiosity had survived, even after all these years. He took hold of an end of the scarf and slowly, carefully, began to unwind it. Finally, he got it loose.

And Russia's head fell off.

~FIN~

A/N: Yeah, the story it was based on is called "The Green Ribbon". I'M SO SORRY, I HAD TO DO IT. PLEASE BRICK ME NOW SO I DON'T EVER WRITE ANYTHING LIKE THIS EVER AGAIN. Thank you.


End file.
